


My Greatest Sin Is

by Keitmeg



Series: Cursed Winchesters [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Sam, Brotherly Affection, Castiel is a Good Friend, Curses, Fuck Or Die, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, No Spoilers, Protective Dean Winchester, Season/Series 11, Slight Cas and Sam Action, Smut, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 03:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15258438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keitmeg/pseuds/Keitmeg
Summary: Sam gets hit with a curse, sort of, and it's literally fuck-or-die. It's up to Dean and Castiel to fix him up, but the cure is a person, not a reversal spell.





	My Greatest Sin Is

**Author's Note:**

> This follows the events of the story Woof, Hiya Sammy, it'd work as stand-alone but there might be some slight references to it. I tried to evade mentioning any spoilers about the show so it's a quick read.
> 
> Typos are mine, feel free to point out.
> 
> Enjoy.

 

 

 

“Sam Winchester” she sing-songs it like they shared a fond past together and now she is reminiscing in it.

Sam and Dean have been on the hunt for a possible succubus after two men and a woman went sexually rampage and one turned up dead, and they were closing in on it very fast. Thinking he had the upper hand, Sam ventured on the hunt solo after finding a lead in the local library. But what he thought was its nest, turned out to be a trap.

Now, he is strapped to a chair inside this abandoned ranch with very little hope for Dean to come and find him quicker since he pretty sure he left the guy at the bar, getting shit-faced. He expects her to go on how he and his brother caused her kin to depart this life since that’s what most creatures like to moan about as though to justify kidnapping them and attempting to murder them. But she might be a different hunt after all.

“I’ve always wanted to meet you.” She sighs wistfully, now sidestepping his chair, “it is such an honor.”

He pursues his lips and huffs, “untie my hands and I’ll give you my autograph.”

The red-head makes a small noise between a purr and a scoff, “that isn’t what I want,” she said, now crouching before him so their eyes can meet. “You know what my kind feeds on, Sam?”

“I think I have a good idea or two.”

She blows a small sigh, her sky-blue eyes taking in all of him that the stare makes him recoil physically, “I heard you saw Lucifer again.” –And that, that really gets to him– “how did it feel, Sam, to be reunited with you worst nightmare?”

“Screw you.” He grouses.

“Oh, I’d love to,” she chuckles, playfully. “But you see, I’m a different type of succubus, I don’t do the drugs I sell.” She nibbles at her bottom lip, her smile dropping. “You, Sam, have something that I really, really want. You’ve been in The Cage with Lucifer for hundreds of years, I’m sure you can’t forget the feeling.”

His chest heaves up-and-down with every ominous word leaving her mouth which includes Lucifer, The Cage or him fucking enjoying it? Give him a break. He didn’t survive years of torture to be told he wants a taste of it now. When he saw Lucifer again, all he wanted to do was coil up into a ball and never face the ugly reality. There was nothing to enjoy, and the feeling he can’t forget is hopelessness. So, fuck you, lady.

“You’re such a feast to my kind, and I bet they’d all die to take a bite of you.” His furrowing brows tell her to elaborate on that one, which she does. “The maximum my preys could last was three days, only just.  But, you, you were in The Pit taking it for two hundred years!”

His breaths become more rough and shallow as images from back then resurface: him, on four, trying to endure Lucifer’s wrath that came in the ugliest of forms, crying out to a God that had forsaken him, and praying for release. Him dragging his nails on the floor, and whispering Dean’s name because, even after almost forgetting his own name, Dean’s became his sole chance to survive all of it…

“Oh, boy, the things I’ve prepared for you.” She runs her fingers through his sweat-soaked locks, “I’ll make sure to enjoy you thoroughly.”

“Yea?” He clears his throat, “well, my brother is going to come in through that door and blast your head off.”

“I know he will,” she shrugs like people blasting her head off was just another day in the office. “That’s why I prepared a plan B.”

That worries him to no end, “what did you do, what’ you want from me!”

She coos, “it’s going to be fine, Sam.” She said, “You won’t feel any pain.”

Just as she scoots away a little, he starts squirming on the chair and pulling against the cords. Like a zap of electricity, he feels a strange wave of something hot coursing through him. He tosses his head to the back and lets out a small groan.

“Don’t fight it, Sam.” She advises, now coming into his eyesight, her long, red hair dangling over his face. “It’s not going to hurt you, contrary to that; it’ll turn you into what you really are.”

He lets out garbled noises as the heat clenches its vice across his chest, and he starts to doubt her words of comfort. His heart isn’t supposed to beat at this scorching speed, and his body isn’t supposed to heat up like a furnace.

The glint in her eyes turns predatory, “you won’t feel satiated, and you won’t _be_ satiated. You’ll continue to hunger for it, until The One releases you from it.”

Sam registers the loud bang that ricochets in the ranch and then the succubus’ body dropping to the floor with a dead thump. The tightening feeling slowly eases off, and he looks down from the ceiling, finding his brother pointing the gun at the woman, and Castiel behind looking like he shitted in his pants and is trying to hide it.

“Nice shot, bro.” Sam snorts, and watches how the succubus’ body starts to melt. “What did you shoot her with, gallium?”

Dean scurries up to him to free him, his face set in hard line. He works on the cords tying his little brother, mumbling under his breath about ‘should’ve burned the bitch alive for touching you’.

“Dean, I’m fine.” Sam whines wearily, “really, I’m fine.”

The man is too lost in his worry to care, and he assists his body with his own hands and eyes, trying to pinpoint any scratches. He hauls him up and cups his cheek, “what did she do to you, Sam? Did she feed on you?”

Sam stifles his happy smile at being fussed over, and pretends to be annoyed by it when it’s actually far from it. “No, she didn’t. Dean, I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

“He is telling the truth,” Castiel chimes in, “he wasn’t fed on, and he isn’t harmed.”

The ticked jaw relaxes as the rest of Dean relaxes as well, and he starts to nod. “Alright, let’s torch this place down and go get some drinks.”

Sam shakes his head sadly, his thin lips parting into a smile.

 

After the drinks, the three of them drive back to the bunker and Sam words his desire for a long, hot shower to wash horse waste off him. Dean tells him to not linger or he’d personally check on him instead of having Castiel sense him.

 

Inside the shower, Sam starts taking his garments off one by one until he is standing bare under the shower head. He turns the tap and the water gushes down on his flesh, lukewarm and abundant. After washing his hair, Sam moves on to his body and that’s when he notices the odd tattoo-like mark between his V lines on the pelvis, shaped like a spiral barbed wire with a red rose in the middle. He probes it like he’s inspecting rare specimen, he pokes it and then rubs it, but it doesn’t come off. He applies soap on it and scrubs it, which fails in removing it as well. Panic starts to bubble up, smothering amidst the steam.

He knows the succubus did something to him right before Dean shot a hole in her heart, so maybe this also is temporary and it won’t take long before it goes away on its own since the one who caused is perished now.

With that thought, he exits the shower fully refreshed.

 

 

It starts as a throb.

Sam shuffles in the bed and tries to kick off the bed cover twisted around his legs as the heat in his room goes high, higher than his sweat glands can take. He groans and snakes a hand to the lamp’s switch, clicking it on.

As he lies there, eying the ceiling with sleepy eyes, the throb from before reverberates through him again, more pronounced this time. He clutches at his chest and sits up, trying to breathe through whatever this pain that’s suddenly decided to disturb his nap. It channels down towards the new mark on his skin, and it pulsates so hard that Sam folds in on himself with a barely stifled whine.

 

Dean is sitting at one of the library tables, a gigantic burger in his hand. As he goes to take a bite, Castiel appears in front of him. It takes Dean all of his acquired skills not drop the sandwich he was finally allowed to eat now that Sam passed out on his bed.

“Dude, how many times do I have to tell you?”

The angel cocks his head, clear-blue eyes widening, “I do not understand,” he starts, “doesn’t Sam disapprove of you eating that?”

The other gulps at being found out, and to veil the small horror his brain is crafting up of the thought of Sam finding out, he clears his throat and glares “which is why I’m eating it while he’s sleeping.”

“Sam” Castiel’s face becomes taut, “that’s why I came.”

The burger gets dropped back on the plate before he finishes his sentence, “what’ you mean?”

Just as Castiel turns to probably sprint towards the entrance of the hallway, Sam walks out, dressed in his flannel and jeans, his hair sticking out to all places. He comes to a screeching halt when he finds them staring at him, he nods and continues his way towards the stairs by the war room.

“Sam, where do you think you’re going?” Dean is already leaving his seat and racing to cut off his path.

“Air,” he mumbles, “I need some air. I’ll be right back.”

As Dean goes to touch his shoulder, Sam jerks away and hits the wall. That warrants arched brows and exchanged fervent looks.

“Dean,” Sam gulps and rakes a hand through his long hair, “just, please, let me out.”

Beside the cagy behavior, and the messy hair and the shirt that needs some ironing, there’s an odd heat oozing out of his little brother as well as sheen of sweat glittering on his face.

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on with you, are you sick?”

Sam finally looks up, and his hazel eyes look bleary and tired, and he finds Dean and Castiel closing in on him. He scrubs a hand over his face and wets his lips. “No, I’m not.” He huffs, “now let me go.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Sam.” The angel says.

Dean glances over at him, “why’s that?”

“I sensed something was wrong with him, that’s why I decided to drop by and check for myself.”

As Dean’s eyes stay on Cas, waiting for the explanation to commence, Sam pushes his way through with a whimper. Not long and bulky arms wrap around him, bringing him to the floor. Just as the hands touch him, Sam arches with a sob.

“What the hell, Sam!” Dean bellows with his face inches atop Sam’s. “We’re not the bad guys here.”

“Don’t touch me!” Sam continues to struggle beneath him, making small whines and grunts. “You don’t understand,” he mewls, “I need to get out.”

“Cas, now would be a good time to explain!”

Said angel ghosts his hands over Sam’s chest, and it keeps going down as the man beneath whips his head and cries, and then it stops over the area under his abdomen. He frowns, and Dean pales. If Castiel frowns, it means big trouble is coming. Castiel tears off the flannel and they finally see the mark.

As though suddenly caught in some sort of a fucking epiphany, Sam’s eyes go impossibly wide and his shaky hand clasps around Castiel’s wrist, and the two keep staring at each other until Castiel hisses and wrenches his hand away, but quickly tapping it on Sam’s forehead to make him fall asleep.

Dean and Cas watch as Sam’s scrunched face starts to become slack, and how his tense body sags on the floor. The hunter finally removes his hands and haunches down, his emerald-green eyes on his brother.

“What in the ever-loving hell just happened?”

“I don’t know, Dean.” The other simply says, “But we need to get him to bed.”

 

Shuffling comes from the heap on the bed before Sam turns to sleep on his right side, his eyelids slowly fluttering open. He groans at the remnants of the previous pain and slowly looks up, finding Dean on a chair, reading a dirty magazine.

“Please tell me I didn’t die and this is my hell.”

Dean closes the magazine and slams it on the nightstand, “even better,” he gushes “you ain’t dead yet.”

Sam attempts to sit up but Dean is already by his side, helping him into a sitting position and tucking pillows behind his back.

“How ‘you feeling?” he asks and drops on his chair.

“Like I survived a train wreck.” He brings a hand to his lower abdomen and starts massaging it with small hisses.

“You ok?”

Sam nods and blows out a sigh, “yea, yea” he says, “um, just, slight ache. Like small zaps.”

“There’s a mark in the place you’re rubbing,” Dean points out, “was it the succubus or were you getting tattooed for kicks?”

Sam scoffs and shakes his head, “it appeared right after we finished the hunt.”

“Why didn’t you tell me!”

Sam sighs tiredly, “Because I thought it was just a matter of time before it faded.” He talks again when he sees that Dean has accepted his reasoning, “I don’t know, man, but it seems she got the drop on me in the end.”

“But we killed the bitch.”

“Well, obviously, it didn’t work.” Just as he says that, he scoots to the edge and swings his legs out, his hand still rubbing the mark, “Oh, man” he makes a small moan, “This thing keeps throbbing.”

Dean lifts up two hands to forestall him, “too graphic for me, dude, let’s tone it down on the over-sharing, shall we?”

Cas knocks on the slightly open door and walks in, his smile faint, “Hey, Sam.”

Sam mirrors his smile, but his is a little coy. “Cas, hey,” he ushers with his other hand, “come on in.”

Dean looks between them with a brow propped.

“Um,” Sam looks up at his brother sheepishly, “mind if you give us a minute?”

Said brother nibbles at his bottom lip and keeps his penetrating gaze on Sam’s down-casted eyes. “Holler if you need me.”

They nod and Cas doesn’t miss on the glare aimed at him by the older hunter, and he can read it like the sky: do anything to upset his baby brother, and he’d make him eat that burger.

 

Cas finds himself seated on the chair Dean just vacated, his fingers twined together over his lap.

“Do you still remember what happened?”

Sam nods, his eyes not meeting the angel’s, “bits and pieces, but, yea, over all I do remember.” he finally looks up. “Thanks for bringing me to my room, by the way.”

“Happy to oblige.”

And this is where his cheeks start to turn red, “I’m also sorry for what I said.”

“It wasn’t you talking.”

“I still asked you to do that, I’m so sorry.”

“Sam,” the other smiles fully now, “You don’t need to apologize to me. You’re my friend, and I know that whatever was making you say those things, it wasn’t you.”

 

What Dean doesn’t know is that when Sam clasped Cas’ wrist, a conversation was going on between the two. It started as soon as their skins made contact and Sam couldn’t control its flow anymore.

_“Cas, I need to go out, I need to find someone.”_

“ _Why_?”

“ _My body_ ,” he told him, _“it wants to be touched. It won’t listen to me.”_

_“I cannot let you go out looking like this, Sam. You’ll be taken advantage of.”_

“ _I don’t care!”_ he hollered, “ _I need it, Cas. God, my body’s not listening_.”

_“I’m sorry, Sam. I can’t allow it.”_

“ _Then touch me, you do it_.” He pleaded, “ _I won’t mind if it’s you, Cas, just, please, give it to me.”_

And that’s when the angel retracted his hand before he’d allow succumbing to the temptation.

 

“It was, actually.” Sam lowers his head again, “I don’t think I’d have controlled myself because I’m pretty sure I wanted it, even if it was you.”

 


End file.
